


Kaldwin Bridge Has Fallen Down

by icarus_chained



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, Gods, High Chaos (Dishonored), Human Sacrifice, Immortality, Loyalty, Magic, Plague, Post-Dishonored (Video Game), Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Vampire Rulers, Vampires, dark future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 13:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: The Outsider gave Corvo Attano a dark gift in Coldridge Prison. Years later, in a Dunwall ruled by an immortal Childlike Empress, a group of sailors offer up an unusual blood sacrifice.A small sketch for a dark high chaos AU.





	Kaldwin Bridge Has Fallen Down

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired very much by [this](https://sully-s.tumblr.com/post/165000624490/little-emily-kaldwin-the-first-did-her-best-in) incredible fanart of a high chaos child ruler Emily and her bloodied guardian.

They were such … beautiful monsters, Callista thought. Had to think. Just sometimes. They were such terrible, fearsome, monstrous things. But, to those they loved, as much as things like them could still love … yes. They were still beautiful. In their way.

They were gathered for an audience now. The hall on the roof of the Tower, made from the gutted remnants of Burrows’ hiding place. Emily had made it into a throne room. Placed her throne on the spot where he’d died. Continuity, she’d said, in her prim, ten-year-old voice. Consequence. Her father had smiled. A sweet curl of his lip, almost hiding the sharp gleam of his teeth.

Emily sat prim and perfect on her throne. As she’d sat for years now. Dressed in white, even still, pretty as a paper doll. Still as tiny and childlike as the day she’d ascended it. The Childlike Empress, on her bloodstained throne. Her father perched on the arm of the throne beside her. Lean and feral, the old monster in his bloodstained coat. His sword rested unsheathed across his thigh, his rough hand tracing it idly. Not that he needed it. Appearances were important, though. Reminders.

The rest of them gathered loosely around them. All the old survivors, the new thralls. Callista and her uncle stood near to the throne’s left side. Almost behind it. A privileged position. They would be defended here. Sokolov and Piero stood to the throne’s right. Piero was away in his own little world, as always. Half in the void, even now. Sokolov tugged him close. Shielded him behind his arm. Not from Corvo, or Emily. They would never harm him. But from the world, maybe. From the horrors that had driven Piero back inside his own mind.

In a loose half-circle around them stood the Whalers. What remained of them. Callista still flinched a little from the sight of them. That was … That had been _cruel_ of Corvo. Easily the cruellest of his acts. They all stood a little stooped. Bowed under. No one saw Daud anymore. The erstwhile Knife of Dunwall. Corvo kept him somewhere. The remains of Coldridge, maybe. None of them saw him. Honestly, none of them dared look.

Someone might get him out, one day. Whatever was left of him. Sam still patrolled the river. Ferrying people to freedom. All of them knew it. Even Corvo. Even Emily. They made no effort to stop him. He hated them with all his heart, could never again bear the sight of them, but they would tolerate no harm to come to him. Honour, as much as monsters had any. Debt. He’d served them well, with all his strength, until they betrayed him. They honoured that still.

If the Whalers ever managed to free Daud, spirit him away, Sam would carry him. And Emily … might even forgive him for it. Corvo might stay his hand, and let them go.

It was a tithing, today. An offering of gifts from a cowed populace to the monsters who ruled them. The Immortal Empress, and the Rat Bringer who’d swept the city to the foot of her throne in a tide of bone and blood. Emily Kaldwin and Corvo Attano. The blood rulers of the Isles.

Hiram Burrows had brought down the Doom of Dunwall, more thoroughly than even he knew. The tide of rats had flowed from Pandyssia at the old spymaster’s command, but it had drawn more than plague to them. The eyes of dark gods had turned upon the city, the gifts of unholy things, and out of a prison cell had arisen a creature to turn that tide back upon those who’d summoned it. A fearsome monster, blood on his teeth and on his blade, magic in his hand.

They were such an old myth, vampires. Creatures of blood and sickness. But gods still remembered them, even if mortals had forgotten. In Coldridge Prison, Corvo Attano had been given a dark gift.

And months later, after a dozen betrayals too many, he had shared it with his daughter.

Callista hugged herself. She looked out over the thronged throne room. A bowed, stooped crowd, silent and waiting for judgement. All one throng. There were no tiers of society left. The dark tide of rats and blood had swept them away. Corvo had laid low noble and beggar alike. In the aftermath, Emily had not raised anyone up again. All were equal before her. All quivered.

Except those she favoured, perhaps. Those she held to, even now. Those she looked on with … love. Or something like it.

Though honestly, Callista quivered too. All of them did. She knew with absolute certainty that Corvo’s blade would never strike her down. His teeth would never pierce her throat. Sam had proved that, more than anyone. She was safe. Utterly safe in his hands. In Emily’s. More so than she had ever been in Havelock’s. But a part of her quivered anyway. Flinched, when pale white arms wound around her waist. The thing that embraced her was no longer a child, no matter how sweetly she still smiled like one. Callista hugged her back. Every time. But a part of her still trembled.

A group came forward now. Whalers, it looked like. Not Daud’s whalers, not assassins in masks, but the real thing. Seamen, from … Morley, by the sound. Come to offer up a gift. To surrender their tithe for the blessing of the Immortal Empress.

They dragged something behind them. A … A person. A young man, hooded and bound. Hobbled, so that they had to drag him. They threw him to the floor in front of them. In front of the throne.

A blood offering, then.

And a specialty offering, too. A delicacy. To hear them speak. No ordinary young man, no mortal blood to whet her appetite. This was a strange one, the whalers said. A creature of the sea, torn up by hooks and lines to be brought before them. A whale. A leviathan in mortal flesh. All for her.

Corvo _stilled_. Went so very still. All of them saw it. All of them _felt_ it. The ragged monster by the throne went still, and every mortal in the room felt death seize them by the throat.

“Corvo?” Emily asked. Soft and curious. But Corvo did not answer.

He came up off the throne. His head tilted, tension thrumming in every limb. He cast himself forward, that hand of magic, and landed above the bound young man. The seamen scattered blindly around him. Flinging themselves back from his figure. He ignored them all. He went to one knee instead. Brought up dark hands, oddly hesitant, and touched the hood about the young man’s head. Curled his fingers beneath it. And ripped it free.

It was a dark head that was revealed. That was all Callista could see for a moment. But then the boy straightened. Pushed himself up on bound hands, and raised his head. She felt herself flinch instinctively. He was young. The way Emily was still young. He was _ancient_. His eyes were black as old blood. And tired. Dark blood painted his lips. His teeth. Most likely his own.

“Hello Corvo,” the creature rasped. Wry and sad. “Come to taste the blood of gods, have you?”

Corvo did not answer. Again, he didn’t answer. But he made … a sound. A strange sound. A distant, strangled thing. At the sound of it, the Empress cast herself from her throne, to his side.

Hers was a stranger magic. A black, crawling thing. It terrified, as always. All who had not already scattered for Corvo scattered for her. She landed at her father’s side, pale and fearsome, and glared out at all of them. A lift of her lips to show her teeth. Only when all were properly cowed and frozen did she turn to her father. Did she rest a tiny hand on his arm.

“Is it him?” she asked, soft and musical. “Corvo?”

He _snarled_, wordlessly, and she nodded. Easy and decisive. She touched her father’s cheek, where he knelt quivering, and then turned to the creature bound at his feet.

“Do you want them alive, or dead?” she asked lightly. As calmly and sweetly as any empress. “Those who have harmed you. Have you need of anything from them, or will their lives suffice?”

The creature stared at her. As startled, Callista thought, as any of them. His lips curled. A strange smile. He was ancient. As old as the sea. But Emily was still a fearsome thing. Even to those she loved. If she hugged him, Callista thought, a part of him would flinch.

“Little Emily Kaldwin,” he murmured, soft and sing-song like whales. “How you’ve grown into your father’s gift. Are you sure it’s their lives you want? God’s blood is sweeter, they say. The richest in all the world. No finer offering could you receive.”

She smiled, and touched _his_ cheek. Touched a pale fingertip to the bruises and the blood. Brushed them aside, to rest her palm gently at his jaw.

“You helped Corvo,” she said solemnly. “You came for him in darkness, and gave him means to come for me. There is no blood sweeter than that, not in any world. Your gifts are beyond price. How will you have your enemies, my lord?”

_My lord_. The whole hall quaked there. Cowered, moaned. The men who’d brought him most of all. My lord, said the Empress. To this battered young man. This whale made flesh. How high must the cost of harming him be? Lives. Blood. Nothing less.

His smile turned lopsided, though. His smile turned sad. “Will you kill for me, little monster?” he asked softly. “As your father killed for you?”

Emily smiled. As sweetly as any monster born. She crouched beside him, her palm still on his cheek. Beside her, her father reached out. Still kneeling. And took bound hands gently in his own rough, monstrous ones. A feral sweetness. They touched him so softly.

“Of course,” she murmured. Immortal Empress of the Isles. “Aren’t you family?”

For they were monsters, the two of them. Such fearsome, monstrous things. But they were beautiful yet to those they loved. Those who, almost against their will, loved them back. They were sweet, and gentle, and would shield you from all harm. They would wrap pale arms around you, and bathe you in the blood of all who threatened you. Even if you hated them. Even if you begged them not to.

And it was, Callista thought, hugging herself as she leaned into her uncle’s side, a thing not even dark gods could bear without a flinch.

**Author's Note:**

> _Kaldwin Bridge has fallen down,_  
Fallen down, fallen down,  
Kaldwin Bridge has fallen down,  
My fair Lady.
> 
> _Build it up with bones and blood,_  
Bones and blood, bones and blood,  
Build it up with bones and blood,  
My fair Lady.


End file.
